The ghosts
AS EWAN stick, his numb glistened thereafter to certain moiling strains similarly, “like I am ever pinned in sniper shots…Hee-hee!” war-cried out just too immersed; the scenery I’d floated in; its space…then I’d, I’d just….wandered to scenes, pictures too narrow. Ewan, in the immediate, hesitated, “….BuBLasted so huge; so absolutely huge,” half ashamed or with his reminiscence of the sharpened assuming, the mirrored-in self, too, “right in my fucking ear!” then riddle lingers one slant in his head, shot, “just targeted.” Just imagine the celeritous 19 year old, squiggled ninja firing a sniper gun into himself at some slit high enough, with rationale poised upon the whole demeanor of war; before him; focused on that funnel in this almost requisite point, Ewan divinely tracking, –zoomed! boom.
Through composed sight, extreme isolation, and reciting ethereal voices to his own self, inside the looming wherewithal with wilderness describing me to you and for you to hear me, “oh it just Blasted absolutely huge?” Those. Real thoughtless life took off uneasily as some whim about encapsulated and old fascinated Ewan Donegal, himself, the dream, “woosh-Bam!” unusually excited, accelerated, plunk thick, unleashed right index, onto me in a moment….in-filtering through my busy mind about the overlapped instant we drifted in…., discharged, disgusted placement of somewhere….“in Storm! and Craq!” affected, dreamlike, dashed off and away….Ewan, a greater purpose than he was aware seeping through the inner walls into this great maze; the unfurls; the unfeeling reasonable trick inside-like signs from God, incredibly still-breathed instance, from a payphone I heard him ramble with destiny, and catch me my diaphragm moiling, abdomen pulling, strains…leaking with that feeling of needling crevices anymore just adjoining myself to processing but embarked upon in such dazzled concealments of workings of a vampire with a mini-scanner still strapped to my wrist, separate coiled back through the cord to attach the index finger anymore, ruptured laser triggered his ear about zapping such harsh scratched insights, the unravel, the heavy conveyance and loose unraveled succumbs of cross-fire coupled with unorganized bellies in light beams.
“Trying to make my own, lost in these ruins,” morning dazed, driven, groggy, fog-worked through and through, day-crashed, away, aways (hopped full of spills, aches - spirirts); when I awoke again and again in the cold moiling and sloped, pushed to collapse in the slopes, slim confined ghoul hoarded fists, worn, raked, all along unforgetting what I was supposed to be; fast forward where the front waist buckled, belt area snagged, and rash like stretched, torn muscle, intestinal bleeding, cleared out implosion; curled under wooden soothe slightly hearing Ewan exclaim the perspective of the inverted realm in an endless scream.
Numb, cells fluttered, drained, face leavening. Slick, thick, slunk, surged, flushed dismally, tingled, an escapade, a disturbed swim of good soft dreams to the bottom, the euphoric palpitated skull, gushed gentle, delight across the pump pump pumped sinks of pale-faced thick white droops, lightheaded sense the reality –floated! The leftovers, refilled the sewn holes, cavities with ….with....standing bites around severed gulps down asymmetry, bubbled thin air immensely aaaaaahhh-umk choked from returning up to the moonlit cool walls that suffer good gone whole dreariness ungrounded; yet, scarred, electrified, contained thin, heavier coating of the pain, to the shot that hit Ewan.
Froze in the undone missile burst. With extraordinary Ewan Donegal, extraordinary real piece of modern literature all mist receding straight back, head accumulated ripped open head, under the blue creativity; the incandescence rose off frozen soothing electric strains yet retaining a moon, when? Ewan simply aligned, synchronized, autonomy in sub-somewhere, placed inside an impact that, “Makes you dream… so enormous. REM sight over our shoulders greater and more replicated, concentrate at the ..but in every attempt will always not have enough..” powerful movements of the provincial successors of ourselves, shorts with miniscule somewhere in the midst of enraged boils, Ewan bubbled skin surfaced, affirmed or reassured in this world, I - in echoes and proud chills, “but where’s heading back? Once we left, the ground... lift off!”—“mmmooooooh?" forever screamed now he went, to him and to me. And Ewan said, “agreed,” in the coercing juicing ignominy, thronging double-edged guts, that flexed, too tightening, reliving ---the contracting, constricting; that every way the flashing; unexpected flare-up of panic; struck of panic; stuck, trapped in the moment heaving fetal clenched, curls and attacks swarming a disgusting mess trapped in planes angled above the pulverized irreversible corridor, unswallowed; or mostly swallowed….permeations leaking to everywhere inside of the overwhelmed salivations… “…sure screwed destiny and fate, (what is fate?) would not matter." That infinite churn even greater.
We were laced with scrolling the shrapnel; all the old or aging shards. In the way Ewan saintly pondered me for more legendary, until.... you know what?— His fresh shaved head turned open from the too refracted pinching, wasted, slipped little shakes right there, tremors or fidgets, low blood swerves some unnatural all masqueraded kind of sideswipe relapsed from some presence of the look Ewan holds up, and out, and the way one hand displays story-time kindergarteners, but leaning that toward me, “unless there is nothing more spectacular,” meaning, touching me forever without touching, "we will be wavering as souls going simultaneously imploring the smashed crouches," but only if we never get out of here. So he sprung off, swiped a confounded theory to thin air, and rolled over for an answer, a reply from myself, but from him; yet, “weee gonna be released," in stringing of words kind of coyly in front of the persuaded quiet galaxies mesmerizing the falling trees, then blipped right on through, reached all in some smooth rapid continuous changes of nearly evaporating the original to nothing at all, yeat remaining as it were.